Chương 13
Outside, cold air hit my face.
I had not been outdoors since the stabbing.
Traffic moved.
A bus sighed at the curb.
A man argued into his phone near the entrance.
Someone dropped a glove and did not notice.
The city looked insultingly ordinary.
Nora helped me into her car.
The seat belt crossed too close to the incision.
I shifted it three times.
She watched me from the driver’s seat.
“You okay?”
“No.”
“Useful answer.”
We drove north toward her condo.
At the first red light, I looked back at the hospital.
For one ridiculous second, I wanted to return.
Hospitals were controlled.
People knocked before entering.
Medication arrived on schedule.
Pain had a number.
Outside, nothing came with rails.
Nora’s guest room was already prepared.
Clean sheets.
Water bottle.
Chargers.
A stack of magazines.
A small trash can.
No decorative gravel.
I noticed.
“You’re obsessed with the gravel now.”
“I hate unnecessary landscaping.”
“That is the most normal thing you’ve said in a week.”
I sat carefully on the edge of the bed.
“Did you remove the baby shoes?”
Nora stopped.
“No.”
“Where are they?”
“In my closet.”
“Leave them there.”
She nodded.
No expression.
No advice.
I loved her for that.
For the first two days, home recovery was mostly humiliating.
Standing hurt.
Sitting hurt.
Lying down required geometry.
Coughing was treason.
Nora insisted on setting alarms for medication and then forgot which alarm meant what.
At three in the morning, her phone chimed with a cheerful marimba sound.
She woke up swearing.
“Pain meds?”
“Maybe.”
“Very reassuring.”
“Could be dishwasher tablets.”
“Why would you have an alarm for dishwasher tablets?”
“I don’t know, Mabel, it’s three in the morning.”
I laughed into a pillow to protect my abdomen.
It still hurt.
But less.
On the third afternoon, Caroline arrived with divorce papers and an expression suggesting everyone else had disappointed her before lunch.
“Flynn has retained counsel.”
“Who?”
“Peter Caldwell.”
Nora groaned.
“That bad?”
Caroline sat at the dining table.
“He’s good.”
“That isn’t what I asked.”
“It’s worse than bad.”
I lowered myself into a chair.
“What does Flynn want?”
“Reconciliation.”
I stared at her.
“Legally?”
“Personally.”
“I mean what does he want in the filing?”
“He has not contested grounds because Illinois doesn’t care about moral theatrics the way people think it does.”
“Property?”
“He wants to freeze major transfers pending the fraud investigation.”
“That makes sense.”
Caroline blinked.
“Please do not become reasonable at inconvenient moments.”
“I am not trying to hurt myself to hurt him.”
“Good.”
“Does he want the house?”
“He says you can have it.”
“I don’t want it.”
“We established that.”
“What about the company?”
“Not directly marital property in the simplistic way daytime television would suggest.”
She pulled several pages free.
“But appreciation, distributions, trusts, partnership interests, and your own financial contributions require analysis.”
“I don’t want a war.”
“Wars are usually announced by people who insist they don’t want one.”
Nora poured coffee.
Caroline accepted without asking.
I said, “Can we protect my personal accounts?”
“We can seek orders preventing unauthorized access and movement.”
“Do it.”
“Already drafted.”
I looked at her.
“You and Nora should start a club.”
“We would kill each other.”
“That’s the first thing we’ve agreed on,” Nora said.
Caroline handed me another document.
“Flynn also sent something through counsel.”
I did not take it immediately.
“What?”
“A sworn declaration.”
“About?”
“The financial records.”
My hand tightened around the edge of the table.
“What does he say?”
“He admits he gave Selina access to documents because she convinced him you were hiding assets.”
The shame on his behalf irritated me.
“He put that in writing?”
“Yes.”
“Why?”
“Because his lawyers are trying to separate his stupidity from her potential fraud.”
Nora nearly choked on her coffee.
Caroline did not react.
I scanned the page.
Flynn admitted authorizing Selina to review copies of certain household financial files.
He admitted giving her access to the garage and home office.
He admitted receiving fabricated statements from her and failing to verify them independently.
He denied authorizing any account opened in my name.
He denied instructing her to alter records.
He denied any knowledge of the shell companies.
Then I reached the final paragraph.
My vision slowed.
I read it twice.
“What?”
Nora asked.
I handed her the page.
Flynn had included one additional admission.
Two months before the stabbing, Selina had told him she believed I was planning to leave him and expose financial misconduct at Vance Global.
He had asked her where she heard that.
She said I told her.
I had never said any such thing.
Nora looked up.
“He believed this too?”
“Apparently.”
Caroline tapped the declaration.
“Not entirely.”
“What do you mean?”
“Read the next sentence.”
I did.
Flynn wrote that he had confronted me indirectly.
I searched my memory.
Then I found it.
January.
A Sunday morning.
He had asked whether I was happy.
Not casually.
He had stood in the kitchen doorway while I made coffee.
Are you happy here?
I had thought he meant our marriage.
I told him I was tired.
He asked whether I had plans he should know about.
I asked what kind.
He said forget it.
I had.
Caroline said, “He claims your answer made him doubt Selina.”
“That is generous.”
“Then why keep giving her access?”
“Exactly.”
I turned the page.
There was more.
Flynn stated that he began reviewing Selina’s claims privately because parts of her evidence did not match his own records.
My breath caught.
“When?”
“Three weeks before the attack.”
Caroline answered.
“He hired an outside forensic accountant.”
Nora stared at her.
“Why are we only hearing this now?”
“Because Flynn did not tell his own company.”
“Who did he hire?”
Caroline named a boutique accounting firm downtown.
I knew them.
Very discreet.
Very expensive.
“What did they find?”
Caroline looked at me.
“That is the problem.”
“The accountant disappeared?”
May you like
“No.”
“They gave Flynn a preliminary report the morning of the stabbing.”
